


Pancakes in the Morning

by Nightzilla333



Series: Living With Wally [3]
Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Attempted mugging, F/M, Mentions of Masturbation, Mentions of PTSD, Miles you're starting a cult and you don't know it, PTSD, Pancakes, Shopping, Switching POV between Miles and Walrider, loss of times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-06
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-10-05 07:26:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17320595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightzilla333/pseuds/Nightzilla333
Summary: Pancakes in the morning, shopping in the noon, stopping a mugging at night. It's not your average day, but Miles life is pretty weird now, so who really cares?





	Pancakes in the Morning

Normally, Miles would say that the snow was cold against his feet. Especially since he wasn’t wearing shoes. And his socks were soaked. The Walrider did weird things when it came to keeping Miles put together.

He wasn’t really sure where he was going, mostly just following the tug in his gut. He was in Canada, he at least knew that. And he was very, very close to Waylon’s new home.

Miles feet stopped moving, and when he looked up he noticed he was standing in front of a door. Well, the door. Waylon’s door. Waylon really needed to shovel.

The door opened, and Miles realised he wasn’t in charge of his actions anymore.

“Miles!” Waylon shouted. He pulled Miles into the warm house, calling for Lisa. It was such a nice warmth. Comforting. Miles felt his knees buckle just as Lisa rushed into the room. The Walrider caught him in a black cloud.

The nanoswarm hefted Miles up, carrying him bridal style. Miles smiled, loopy and wide. He went to pat Waylon on the face, missing by a mile. “Waylon, pal. Friendo. Chump. Mate. Light of my life and defeater of darkness. You need to… you need to shovel your walk.” Then, promptly, he fell unconscious.

* * *

 

Miles woke in a fluffy bed, blankets pulled up to his chin. There was an electric fireplace on in the corner, the curtains pulled closed, and every single light was on. Miles was very, very warm.

The Walrider was floating above the bed, playing with a red string. Clothes were sitting on a chair and neatly folded. His jacket was nowhere to be seen.

Miles whined when he pushed himself into a sitting position. His muscles were sore and his feet were killing him. More importantly, Miles really had to pee. But peeing meant toilet, toilet meant bathroom, bathroom meant leaving the room, and leaving the room meant clothes.

The Walrider left the bed and grabbed the clothes. He glared at the nanoswarm when it approached him slowly, then rolled his eyes when it took over his body again. At least the clothes were easy to put on and baggy. Definitely not Waylon’s.

The bathroom was across the hall. He, or, rather, the Walrider, floated across the hall and into it. Peeing was interesting while floating, feeling more like a game than necessity. Washing his hands was definitely a necessity. Hey! You try covering a story about infected water ways leading to a cholera outbreak and not be obsessed with cleaning your hands after handling anything to do with waste products.

He floated down the stairs after making sure to turn off all the lights in the room he had been sleeping in. It was late. The sky outside was dark, and the kids were (most likely) in bed. Waylon and Lisa were cuddled up in the couch, watching a movie. He plopped into an armchair.

“How’re you doing?” Lisa asked.

“I masturbated with the Walrider.”

Miles watched Waylon shoot up, jostling Lisa. There was silence, and then Lisa started laughing. “Please tell us you’re joking.” Waylon said nervously.

“Nope.” Miles said with a pop of the ‘p’. “He was curious.”

“How did that even happen!?”

Miles shrugged and snuggled into the chair. “Like I said, he was curious.” Miles snorted when the pillow hit him in the face. “He watched me do it once, and decided to try it out. Possession and all. It’s no big deal.”

“How was it?” Lisa asked, trying and failing to contain her chuckles.

“Painful. He wouldn’t stop. I passes out.” He wrapped his arms around the pillow, snuggling it. “Kinda hot. I’d probably do it again.”

“Nice.” Lisa said with a nod.

“No! Not nice! Miles, you shouldn’t be encouraging it to… to… Lisa, don’t encourage him!”

“Waylon, it’s not a kid. It’s a living, killing god that you helped create. In order for it to survive it’s gotta learn!”

“But does it have to learn sex?!”

“Sure, why not? Waylon…”

“I just don’t see why it has to learn about sex! It’s wrong! It’s –”

“A reminder of Mount Massive. Waylon, honey,” Lisa interrupted him, pulling him tight against her and pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “I’m not going to tell you to get over it, because it’s hard. It’s something you’ll never get rid of, even with intensive therapy, and it’s not like that’s really an option. But you’re not the only one with PTSD. Miles does as well. You’re both learning how to cope, and you both will always have permanent, physical reminders of your time there. If this is how Miles want to cope, then let him. But if it’s making you uncomfortable, we’ll stop. Do you want us to stop?”

Waylon was silent, staring at the threadbare blanket. He plucked at it every-once-in-awhile. Finally, after a minute or two, Waylon gave a slow, tiny nod. Lisa pressed another kiss to his head.

“Do you want me to leave?” Miles asked in a small voice. His arms tightened around the pillow. “Can I get some shoes before I go? Maybe a better jacket?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Waylon mumbled. “You’re not leaving. We’ll get you some new shoes in the morning.”

“Are you sure?” Miles could feel the Walrider humming underneath his skin – an angry buzzing of killer bees. The last time he felt something even similar to this unease the Walrider tore a squadron of men to shreds.

Being shot apparently has a very similar feeling of rejection anxiety. This was something Miles never wanted to learn.

Another pillow was thrown at him. “We have a guest room set up for you already, and you obviously feel safe here. Besides, we’re pretty sure you don’t actually have a place to go.”

“I’d been using Blaire’s credit card to sleep at motels. I got rid of it my last stop. They finally caught up to me.”

“How did you get here anyway?”

“I walked.” He laughed at the looks on their faces. “It’s not like there’s border guards all across the border! There’s not even signs up across the border to let you know you’re crossing it. I just followed the tug.”

The movie continued to play. It told the tale of a horrible looking nanny that gets prettier with each good deed the children she took care of did. By the time the credits rolled they were asleep. The Walrider looked around the room, and dropped its shoulders.

It carried Lisa and Waylon to bed and tucked them in with ease. Then the Walrider floated back downstairs and popped the leg rest. It threw the threadbare blanket over Miles then settled on the top of the chair, tilting it back.

It would be hell on Miles back, but it’s not always the greatest idea to move Miles when he’s sleeping.

The Walrider froze and then zipped back upstairs. Gently, it carried Waylon back down the stairs. It laid Waylon carefully on the couch and threw the blanket from Miles to Waylon.

It settled once again, perched like a gargoyle on the chair.

* * *

 

They awoke to the sound of hushed laughter and the smell of pancakes. Miles cracked his neck as he stretched, and Waylon remained flopped on the couch, groaning.

“Boys time for breakfast! And I’m not talking to the twins!”

“Pancakes?” Miles asked.

“Yes, pancakes. Come get some.”

Miles waddled into the kitchen mumbling about pancakes. Waylon groaned again. Lisa sighed and handed Miles a plate, ushering him to the kids sitting at the table. He plopped into the chair and it creaked.

He ate the pancakes with the skill of a starving man.

But, now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t remember the last time he ate, so, accurate.

“Waylon? Are you coming for food?” A noise from the living room, and Lisa sighed. “Boys?”

The two children screeched and launched from their chairs, hurtling towards their father. An “oomph” could be heard from Waylon, presumably from when the twins jumped on their father.

“So?” Miles asked, finishing off his plate. “When do the munchkins go to school?”

“They’re on winter break.”

“What? It’s, like, early September?”

“It’s halfway through December. It’s almost Christmas.”

Miles gave a low whistle, and the shrieking laughter of the boys picked up a notch. Waylon finally appeared in the kitchen, a boy under each arm. He still looked really tired.

“C’mon, Waylon, time for breakfast.”

“Mmmmnooo food.”

“Yes food, sweetheart. It’s pancakes. You love pancakes.”

“Pancakes?”

“Yes. Pancakes.”

“I love pancakes.” Waylon dropped both of his sons and accepted the late from Lisa. He didn’t eat as fast as Miles, which wasn’t surprising. He could barely keep his eyes open as he ate.

“Is he always like this when he wakes up?”

“Yeah,” Lisa said, a smile on her face and carding a hand through his hair. “He’s not really a morning person. Oh! Your clothes have been washed and dried. Go take a shower, and we’ll take you to a mall to get you some shoes.” A beat. “Maybe get you some clothes.”

Miles stood and stretched. His back popped. “A shower would be great.”

* * *

 

The mall was really, really crowded. It made the Walrider crawl under his skin. Not like last night, but apparently the Walrider wasn’t a fan of crowds. But, the shoe store was right next to a great chocolate store that sold delicious ice-cream bars, and besides, chocolate is great.

He’s got a new pair of shoes on his feet, a few bags of clothes on his arms, and an ice-cream car in his hand. Sure, a few _~~six~~_ hours felt wasted, but now he has ice-cream and he was separated from the Parks and found a surprisingly deserted area of the mall. Probably because there wasn’t any big name stores and the maximum amount of bathrooms is zero.

He passed by the door that led to the internal workings of the mall when he heard, or, rather, the Walrider heard a whimper.

Miles became vaguely aware of the Walrider taking over, his bags and ice-cream dropping to the floor with a quiet thump and wet splat. The Walrider phased through the door, unseen to the naked eye.

A man was holding a knife at a mall worker. He was demanding money, and the Walrider could tell that it was going to get violent rather soon. The Walrider knew the charged air well – it was born in this type of energy.

“L̡̦͎̞e̳a̡̙̰̮̫v̻͍̕͞e̠̦̞̺͜͠ͅ ̩̭͠͠h̶̸͚̭͉͘i̮͇̖͚͈͖m̨̜͘ͅ ̧̱̘͢a̡͉̼̜̰̘̮͕ḻ̷͎̦̫̕o͉̪̖̖̖̤̪͟ͅn̴̛͍͎e̴̺̠̠̳̜̰͟.” It felt weird when the Walrider spoke through Miles – like static stuck in his throat. Miles knew that he would be spending hours clearing it to get rid of the feeling. “D̷̡͙̰̗͚̫͠r͙̰̞̖͢o̯͚͔̯̲͕̼̰ͅp̰̗̳͙̖̯̘̠͚͡ ̕҉͚̘̬͖̞t̛͓̹̥̬̟͝ͅh̳̝̹̲̜ḙ̖̖͜ ̶̻̻̥͍k͏̲͓͍͔̜͔̮̮̝n̛̬͜i̝̼͠f̢̛͉̳͇̦̭̯͍̻̕ḛ̗͙̯̯͕̳̫ ͔̜̦͡͞ą̵͍͇̳̻n̠̱͇̺̲̲͕̕͝d̫̭̬͉͍̙͜͟͠ ̵̜̯̩̜͍͡ͅl͏̼̳͚e̶̫̤̪̺̘̙͔͇a̢̭̖̩͠ͅv͕̮̗̫͘e͕̖̠͓̯̮̞͖ ̴̢͚̘͓̳̤͕͜h̝͖̼͖̦͚͓̣i̬͇͓̜̬m̸͈͍̣̹͢ ̝̗̺͈̳̣͠͝ą̡̛̞̘̜̦͎l̜̣̳̜͠͠o̸̧̢̘̹̪̝ņ̵͕̞e̷̢͚͉̥͕.”

The two startled, and the mugger dropped the knife. He took off running as it clattered to the ground. The mall worker slid down the wall.

They floated away, back through the door. The Walrider peeled away, leaving Miles alone to pick up his bags. He did, and went to go find the Parks. It was time to leave the mall.

* * *

 

That night, sitting at his laptop, a mall worker told the story of how he was saved by an angel.


End file.
